


At Year's End

by MyPrivateInsanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyPrivateInsanity/pseuds/MyPrivateInsanity
Summary: Hermione can't stop blushing. And what on Earth is wrong with Draco Malfoy? A little detective work on the part of their friends might turn up some clues.Written for the I Solemnly Swear New Year's Eve Resolutions Fest, December 2018.





	At Year's End

Ah, the holidays.

The most wonderful time of the year. Hadn’t she heard that on some record her parents used to play?

It had been a hell of a long day. Week, even.

Let’s face it: the last month of the year was a killer.

The holidays seemed to get more and more elaborate over time - more parties, more decorations, higher expectations. Do you truly care for that person? Well, then, the gift should be elaborate and expensive, and wrapped as beautifully as if it were to be used in a photo shoot. Oh, and don’t forget the many parties too, which meant feigning relaxed cheer while one’s hosts fussed quietly over whether the canapés would stretch to feed the unexpected mouths that just showed up without invitation. 

And don’t forget to pretend that you were enjoying the party in the first place.

Add to that the burdens of bureaucratic life, and it was no wonder everyone she worked with was exhausted - and striving mightily to hide it. 

Working in the Ministry to “help the world” really meant “slogging through endless red tape and hoping you don’t have to compromise so much that you undermine your morals.” Everything moved more slowly than was reasonable. Everyone had an opinion which must be expressed and taken into consideration, regardless of its worth or applicability. It’s a wonder that anything got done, and obvious why nothing much did. 

The artificially-imposed deadline for many projects was year’s end, which meant many people slamming through analyses, reports, etc which led to late nights at the office. Hermione had lost count of the number of times she’d done her hair and makeup in the office loo before rushing to the next holiday party she couldn’t avoid. 

Which led to our current scene - Hermione riding in the lift late one Friday evening with her coworker, Draco Malfoy. 

She felt a bit awkward in her red, form-fitting cocktail dress. No doubt he’d seen more revealing dresses on better-looking witches with nicer figures than hers - but he had never seen her in such an outfit from anywhere closer than across a ballroom, and so it was a bit embarrassing. 

Looking toward him, she noticed him staring raptly. At her. 

At her chest. Her chest, in the low-cut V neckline of her dress, her cleavage rather more displayed than she would normally at work. 

Was she embarrassed before? Now she was mortified. She knew she couldn’t compare to what was usually paraded before him, but how rude of him to stare like that!

“Malfoy!” she snapped, annoyed. “My eyes are up here!”

 

——————————————————————-

Draco was nothing short of drop-dead exhausted. 

He’d spent the last weeks juggling work, social responsibilities - and the unbridled enthusiasm of his mother, who’d abruptly decided she was going to host the New Year’s Eve party of the ages - never mind the fact that the Malfoys hadn’t entertained since before the Second War, and Merlin only knew who might be persuaded to actually attend. 

Despite his admonitions, Narcissa’s plans proceeded apace. Elaborate banquet tables, stunningly beautiful decorations, not one but two live bands - one indoors, one outdoors. Oh of course the gardens would be charmed to be comfortably warm, while leaving the beautiful snow untouched. This week, she’d be issuing invitations. 

Hopefully someone would respond in the affirmative.

He’d spent some time trying to think of ways to make this party a success. He didn’t particularly care about it one way or the other, except that he loved his mother dearly and wanted her happy. She’d dealt with a lot of horrible things during his lifetime and he did what he could to make it up to her - even if he wasn’t the Malfoy who caused the issues. He had come up with something that he thought might tip the scales in their favor.

In an uncharacteristic display of poor posture, he was slumped against the side wall of the lift, his gaze unfocused as he stared unseeingly into near space. It was a stroke of luck that she was on the lift just now, but he was so tired...

He’d just been thinking of how to say it, and gathering his courage to ask her to come, when - seemingly out of the blue - she spoke to him.

“Malfoy!” she snapped, in a tone he hadn’t heard from her since Hogwarts. “My eyes are up here!”

Startled, he nearly jumped in his haste to stand upright. “Hermione? What - what are you talking about?”

“I saw you. Staring at me.”

“Why would I stare at you?”

“Oh, thanks for that, so apparently I don’t meet your high standards. So I guess they’re not big enough?”

“What’s not big enough?” came out of his mouth before he had a chance to engage his brain.

“My - my chest. My breasts,” she mumbled, suddenly embarrassed.

Taken aback, he laughed reflexively. “Where did that come from? Honestly, I have no idea - “ He blinked, and then again. “Wait, you think I was staring at -“ He was stammering. Damn his brain for misfiring so badly when he was so tired!

Thoroughly mortified, Hermione took refuge in anger. “And thanks for the laughter too! I know I literally don’t measure up, but you don’t have to rub my face in it!”

As the elevator came to a stop, she stomped off toward the floos.

He stood there, dumbfounded, rapidly considering and then rejecting any number of things he could say. There was no good answer to “Why are you staring at my breasts?” Particularly when he hadn’t been - or, rather, perhaps that was where his gaze had landed but he wasn’t really looking at her, lost in thought. 

Although, now that she’d mentioned it, he couldn’t quite erase the visual from his brain. 

It wasn’t until the lift door started to close that he suddenly sprang to action - grabbing it, shoving it open and exiting, running after her. “Granger! Hey, Granger, hold up!”

But she continued briskly toward the floos, and he was left with nothing but the vision of her pert bum as she walked away from him as quickly as possible.

Wait.

Pert?

————————————————-

That night, at the cocktail party, Hermione took an opportunity to whisper in Ginny’s ear. “I need to talk to you!”

Ginny glanced at her, raising a brow. “I take it we need somewhere private?” she murmured in reply. 

“Please, yes! I know this isn’t the best setting but - something happened. And I really need your advice on what to do!”

Ginny suddenly grabbed Hermione’s arm. “Ouch!” she cried, kicking off one of her heels and limping as she stepped closer. 

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked worriedly. 

“I - I think I’ve sprained my ankle. Do you think you could look at it for me? You’re so good with healing spells,” Ginny said, her voice carrying. 

Their hostess hurried over. “Oh dear! Of course, you’d like some privacy to rest and recover. Right this way,” she said, leading them along a hallway to a spare bedroom. “Take your time - is there anything I can do?”

Ginny smiled bravely, her shoe in her hand, as she hopped over to the bed and sat down. “I don’t think so - Hermione is very versed in healing spells, and I alway seem to have a pain relief potion with me because of the children. I’m sure we’ll be fine, but we’ll call if we need anything, is that all right?” 

“Of course! I’ll just shut the door and leave you to it then,” their hostess said as she left them in the room. 

Ginny immediately pulled her wand out of her evening bag, warded the door and silenced the room, and then put her shoe back on. 

“But - I need to take a look at your ankle,” Hermione said, confused.

“Really? I’m not that good of an actress!” Ginny laughed. “I just got us a private room to talk!”

“Oh. Oh!”

“So what has the brightest witch of our generation in such a tizzy?” Ginny asked lightly.

“Ugh, lay off with that brightest witch stuff. You know I hate it. And besides, what I did would more likely qualify me for thickest idiot in the country.”

“So what happened?”

“You can’t tell anyone. I mean it! Not even Harry - especially not Harry!”

Grinning, Ginny raised her right hand in the air. “I solemnly swear that I will never share the details about to be revealed to me with anyone.” Lowering her hand, she added, “There. Will that do?”

“I suppose so…”

Hermione proceeded to tell her about what happened in the elevator with Malfoy, blushing as she recounted her defensiveness and embarrassment. 

When she was done, Ginny looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “So - how long have you had a little thing for Malfoy?”

Hermione gasped and stammered. “But I - how did you know? I mean, what makes you think so?”

“None of this would matter if you didn’t care what he thought about you. In fact, it probably wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t care about what he thinks. You’re blushing hard enough to match your dress at the moment, and if you didn’t care we wouldn’t be talking about it now. But clearly you’re worried what he’s thinking.

And what does he think of you anyway? Do we have any idea of that?”

“Well, no, but - he’s smart, and resourceful, and he comes up with great ideas and solutions that no one else seems to see, and so many of them work perfectly. He’s really well read, and can talk about almost any subject you’d care to bring up - it’s impressive. Look, I know it would have been ridiculous in school to think that he’d ever be interested in me. It’s obvious, with being on opposite sides in the war and with all the Pureblood ideology his father force-fed him. He’s different now, Gin. He can be short-tempered when he’s irritated but he’s generally pretty nice to people, and so polite. Even people who were dead set against him working with us have come to see he’s a good person.”

“And gorgeous,” Ginny added slyly.

If it was possible, Hermione seemed to blush even more deeply. “Um, yes. Yes, he is. But - I’m so out of his league, I’m sure I don’t have a chance. I mean, you’ve seen the women that crowd around him at functions.”

“Honestly? I can’t say I have. I don’t pay that much attention.”

“Really? I thought it was obvious. It’s like he’s surrounded by every beautiful, elegant, perfect girl in the world and I just don’t compare. I’m sure he’s never looked at me twice and he never will. 

And listen to me, I’m so fucking pathetic! What should I do?”

“Honestly? I can’t tell you what to do. It really depends on what happens next - how he reacts when he sees you again. Let’s see how that goes and we can strategize from there, how does that sound?”

Hermione hated uncertainty, but there was no way around it. “Sure, that sounds good,” she said as she stood, knowing she’d gotten no further in her understanding of what to do next.

That night, at home, Ginny casually mentioned to Harry that Hermione seemed to have a little crush on a coworker.

Harry turned to her, his dress robes in his hand as he approached the closet. “She does? Well that’s kind of encouraging. Ever since she and Ron decided they weren’t meant to be together, she’s never really shown any interest in anyone else. Who’s the guy?”

“Do you want to sit down first?”

“Why? Gin, just tell me!”

“Okay, you asked for it. It’s Draco Malfoy.”

Harry laughed. “You’re joking, right? They’ve never gotten along.”

“They didn’t get along at school - and that’s an understatement of epic proportions - but are you sure they wouldn’t get along now?” she asked, brows raised in inquiry.

“Hmm,” he pondered. “How do you know this?”

“It’s based on something that happened and she asked my advice on, but she basically admitted it during that conversation.”

“So what happened?” he asked, curious now.

“I swore to her I would never reveal the details of our conversation. Of course, I never swore that I wouldn’t reveal anything about it. Truthfully, I didn’t think I’d need to be too devious with her, but you never know what measures might need to be taken. If she’s actually got a possibility for a happy relationship I’d like to help her along.”

“With Malfoy? Do you really think so?”

————————————————————

Despite her talk with Ginny that Friday night, Hermione avoided Draco whenever she could the following week, embarrassed at her outburst on the lift. She had always known he was intelligent and she was afraid he would suss out her secret somehow - or maybe she’d just blurt it out one day in his presence. Honestly, maybe she should consider just telling him - it couldn’t be any worse than the ridiculous accusation she’d made on the lift that one evening. 

She should apologize - but that would mean bringing it up again, which she was hesitant to do. So, she spent the better part of the next week refusing to look at him in meetings and abruptly turning down side corridors when possible to avoid him in the hallways.

After the Lift Ride that Changed his Life (he was, still and always, all about the drama), Draco felt as if he’d been Confunded. Somehow, in his exhausted daze, his brain had managed to capture all sorts of images of Hermione in that little red dress. He’d never allowed himself to realize before just how lovely she was. Not beautiful in the conventional sense, and it was clear she wasn’t interested in spending hours readying herself to face the day - but he’d spent a lifetime surrounded by that overdone look and found it dull as anything. No, she was bright and lively, a sparkle in her eye, almost frighteningly intelligent and rather kind. 

And with a nice figure, too, given the numerous detailed mental images he now possessed. 

Since they’d been working together, they’d managed to set their old differences aside, in order to be able to work reasonably decently if nothing else. Dropping old misconceptions, along with a good bit of added maturity, had let him see why many truly thought she was a remarkable woman.

They were right. And now he couldn’t quite get her out of his head. The more he saw, the more he liked her. It was almost bordering on the embarrassing. 

A week later, Harry was just about to walk into the conference room where the meeting was to be held, when he saw Hermione walking by out of the corner of his eye. He turned away from the doorway and called out to her.

“‘Hermione?”

“Hi Harry!” she called down the hall.

“Have you gotten the year-end budget figures for the aurors in charge of Centaur Relations?”

“Still waiting for a couple numbers, but I’ll get it and the overall year-end to you as soon as I can!”

“Great, thanks!”

Hermione grinned and waved in acknowledgment.

Just as he was about to turn back to enter the room, Harry heard a thumping noise, followed by an exclamation and a second thump. He turned to see Draco Malfoy scrambling up from the floor. 

“All right there?”

“What? Um, yeah, I just - wasn’t looking where I was going I guess,” the blond mumbled as he entered the conference room.

Beside him, Ron was shaking his head. “That was weird.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not quite sure. Malfoy just - walked straight into the wall. He was looking in this direction, and he was clearly nowhere near the door, and just - bang, into the wall. So hard he fell on his arse.”

“So? People do stuff like that all the time.”

Ron frowned. "I do things like that. Occasionally, you do things like that. When have you _ever_ seen _Malfoy_ do something like that?” 

—————————————————

After the meeting ended, Harry and Ron walked down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat. Apparently Malfoy had a similar idea, and he was a few minutes ahead of them getting to the lunchroom. He was walking across the room to an empty table, carrying a tray laden with soup, bread and a mug of tea. 

As Harry and Ron walked across the room, Hermione looked up from her food and saw them. 

“Oh, Harry!” she called.

He turned to look at her. 

I got the rest of those figures while you were in that meeting - I should have something for you by end of day. Will that work?”

Just as Harry was about to agree, something happened.

As he was walking by Hermione, Malfoy’s tray somehow tipped - and dumped soup and tea down Hermione’s back, while Draco stood there staring, his eyes wide. 

Hermione jumped up from her seat, turning toward him. “Oh! Ouch! Damn! What the hell, Malfoy? Shit, that’s hot! Get it off of me!”

Draco stood motionless for a second, then seemed to reach for the buttons on her blouse. 

“No, you moron! Not the shirt, get the food off me! Are you a wizard or aren’t you? Magic, remember?”

Malfoy was petrified, frozen in place by now, mortified that he’d genuinely thought removing her blouse was a good idea. Somehow.

By this point Ron had hurriedly made his way across the room, turned Hermione so her back was to him, and cast a scourgify. 

“Thank you, Ronald. And Malfoy - what was that?”

“I - I don’t know, I just - it - I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” he stammered, alternating between glancing at her and staring at the floor. 

“Um, yes I think so. It wasn’t hot enough to burn, just was really uncomfortable.”

“If your clothing needs replacing I’ll be glad to take care of it,” he said, slowly recovering from whatever it was that had rendered him clumsy and speechless. 

“I think it’ll be fine. I’ll check it out, though, and let you know. I think Ron’s scourgify should get me through the day at least.”

Okay, yeah, good,” he replied, abruptly turning on his heel and leaving the room. 

With the tray, the bowl, and all the various accouterments left lying on the floor. 

Sighing, Hermione cleaned up after him. Clearly he didn’t care enough to even pick up after himself. 

Harry, having witnessed the whole thing, walked over to talk with his friends. 

“What the hell is wrong with him anyway? I’m actually starting to get a bit concerned.”

Ron frowned thoughtfully.“I…have an idea. It’s a crazy one, but I’m beginning to think I may be right.

By the way, Harry, could we have Hermione come to the budget discussion next week to present the figures for this year?”

“Well, I suppose we could but it’s pretty cut and dried - not sure why she’d need to be there.”

“I have my reasons. Hermione doesn’t mind, do you?”

“Well, if you think you need me there, I can attend,” she replied, glancing from one to the other.

“I think we definitely need you there, Mione,” Ron said. He was almost sure it would help solve the mystery of what was ailing Malfoy.

————————-

The day of the budget meeting, in the department conference room, Harry opened the meeting and then asked Hermione to go over the figures she’d come up with. 

Hermione was still a little surprised that Harry didn’t seem to think they were self-explanatory, but she humored him (well, Ron, really) and began to go over the ending year’s budget.

A few minutes into Hermione’s presentation, Ron poured himself a glass of water and then handed the pitcher to Malfoy, who was sitting next to him.

Malfoy took the pitcher in hand, and tipped it to pour - about six inches away from his glass, as he was looking away, apparently listening raptly to the facts and figures Hermione was announcing.

Or maybe he was just watching the way her mouth moved as she spoke.

“Malfoy,” Ron hissed. “MALFOY!”

His attention suddenly shifting, Draco abruptly stopped and set the pitcher down hard, almost dropping it. He stared at the table dumbly as those surrounding him grabbed the papers on the table to save them from the growing puddle. 

Harry cast a scourgify to clean the water up and help restore anything that may have gotten wet. “Malfoy? You all right there?”

“Um, yes. Yes, I - sorry, I didn’t realize - ” he stammered. 

“Not a problem, carry on, Hermione, if you would please,” Harry answered, glancing at Ron, who unaccountably was smirking. 

Hermione persisted with her presentation as Draco stared at the papers in front of him. How embarrassing! Everyone in the room must think him a fool. And an inattentive one, at that, for now he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He was afraid his every thought of her would be written all over his face. He couldn’t allow that, and despite years of masking his thoughts and emotions he seemed to have suddenly lost the talent for it. 

At least where Hermione Granger was concerned.

As a front, he pulled out the fancy Montblanc fountain pen he’d bought a year or so ago and began to fiddle with it. It was a novelty, really, and a bit unusual even for Muggles to carry. Regardless, he appreciated how much ink it held, in contrast to a quill which needed to be dipped almost every sentence, and it looked better than those biro things the Ministry had started buying by the gross. He uncapped the pen and wrote a few notes with it - mostly nonsense, but it would look as if he was calm and attentive - then set the pen back down. 

In seconds, the pen had swollen and then exploded, jettisoning ink all over his papers and across the table.

Draco wanted to die. This was incredible. He hadn’t had an issue with accidental magic since he was a child. And a pen ejaculating ink? Wasn’t that a suggestive image? Oh fuck. Well, yes, that was exactly what he’d been thinking about, in fact. With the woman currently presenting in the meeting, to be specific.

As the others were dealing with the pen explosion fallout, Harry leaned across the table and spoke quietly. “Malfoy, why don’t you take the rest of the day? I suspect the long hours may be getting to you.”

“Um, yes, I - thank you, that’s a good idea. See you,” he stammered, hurriedly gathering his things and practically running out the conference room door.

Leaving Hermione feeling as if he truly couldn’t stand even to be in the same room with her.

After the meeting, Ron followed Harry into his office and shut the door.

“What the hell is going on with Malfoy, do you suppose? Could he be ill or something?” Harry asked as they sat down.

“Oh, it’s certainly something. And in the past I would’ve definitely felt sick about it,” Ron answered. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve done a bit of skulking around and applied some deductive reasoning, and I have a theory. Let me just present my observations and findings,” Ron said, grinning.

Harry groaned. “Have you been reading Sherlock Holmes again?”

Ron looked puzzled. “What?”

“Never mind, go on.”

“Okay, well, here’s what I observed.

“First, Draco Malfoy is a lot of things, but clumsy isn’t one of them. He’s almost annoyingly graceful, the git.

“Second, these instances we’ve witnessed of fumbling, stumbling and other cloddishness on Malfoy’s part have only occurred while someone in particular was in the vicinity. Someone very much in particular. 

“Care to guess who that particular someone is?"

“Merlin, Ron, just tell me what you’re thinking, all right?”

Sigh. “Okay. Here it is. Malfoy is crushing on Hermione.”

Harry blinked, then turned to Ron, an amazed look on his face. “No. No. Really? But that means…” he trailed off, recalling the conversation with his wife the prior Friday evening. 

When he said nothing further, Ron grew impatient. “What? What does it mean?”

“What? Oh - Ginny has a theory that Hermione has a thing for Malfoy, based on some girl talk stuff. She wouldn’t tell me what happened, but she thinks it’s pretty obvious.”

Ron frowned. “Oh bloody hell. And I was hoping this would be some great entertainment for us, watching Malfoy turn into a butterfingered clod. I was looking forward to laughing at him for it.”

“Come on, he’s really not that bad now. And in a odd kind of way, it makes sense, the two of them,” Harry added thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, I know,” sighed Ron. “They could geek out together over numbers and books and weird, esoteric shit. She used to drive me crazy with that stuff in school.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us. Okay, we need a plan.”

—————————————————-

That night in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, Harry sat down with Ginny and Ron to discuss the burning question of how to manipulate their friend’s private life. (Purely for her own good, of course.) Ginny was brought up to date on the boys’ suspicions regarding Malfoy, and confirmed that she was certain Hermione had an interest in the man, though she still refused to give details on why she thought that. 

The three sat in silence for a few minutes, each thinking, trying to come up with a way to bring the two together. Harry thought of, then rejected, a couple of ideas for an at-work meeting - Hermione would never allow her concentration to drift so far from her work, and orchestrating something with so many possible interruptions was difficult, to say the least. 

Suddenly, Ginny stood up and walked over to the desk in the corner. “I know!”

Shuffling through the various papers on the desk, she pulled out a formal parchment invitation, walked back to the table and placed the parchment on it. 

It was their invitation to the Malfoys’ New Year’s Eve party. 

Ron picked it up and read through it, then tossed it to the table. “Oh, no...” he groaned. Anything but a formal affair! 

Ginny poked him in the ribs. “Shut up you! This is perfect. We go. We make Hermione go. We make sure the Prophet hears that we’re going, which should attract some attention and get the hangers-on to go if no one else. That way we’ll get in Lady Malfoy’s good graces, and Malfoy will be grateful his mum doesn’t fall on her face. I can make sure Hermione is dressed to the nines, and surely Malfoy can find his way to make a move. It’s his territory, after all.”

With no other viable ideas on offer, Harry and Ron found themselves agreeing to voluntarily go to a black-tie event, something that neither had thought he would ever do.

————————————-

Once the gossip columns heard - and reported - that the Golden Trio were planning to attend the Malfoys’ party, suddenly the acceptances were flying into the Manor. Narcissa was preening over her success; Draco was just grateful they’d have someone there to eat the food, and his mother wouldn’t be embarrassed by poor attendance. 

Ginny had done her best in helping Hermione prepare for the evening, leaning heavily on the “you must look your best to be seen in public” angle, though Hermione didn’t quite agree. Ginny wanted to add “and for Draco too,” but didn’t think that would help any. 

Despite her dislike of large functions, Hermione was having a fairly good time until she started seeing the witches practically lined up to flirt with Draco. Within a quarter of an hour, he was surrounded by a crowd of young women, and was smiling, chatting and laughing, perfectly relaxed.

He had never talked to her that way. And lately, it was almost as if he could barely stand to look at her.

She didn’t know what had gone so wrong - things had been awkward when they first started working together, but they’d quickly overcome that. There was of course her little faux pas in the lift, but he’d seemed to forget about it - at least at first. Maybe, after thinking about it, he’d realized her interest in him and was trying to fend her off?

She felt miserable. Her little crush was so hopeless. 

It was time to make a change. 

Feeling her control slipping and looking for a spot of privacy, Hermione made her way through the French doors onto the balcony, where she retreated away from the windows so she wasn’t easily seen. 

—————————————

Finally managing to break away from the gaggle of geese he’d been surrounded by, Draco walked around the room, looking. Seeing Ginny Potter, he asked without preamble, ”Where’s Hermione?”

Ginny raised a brow. “Out on the balcony. Alone. But she probably shouldn’t be.”

Draco looked at her quizzically. 

“It’s almost midnight - why don’t you go keep her company?” she said, kindly.

“Um, well - yeah, I - I think I will,” he replied, wincing at his own awkwardness.

“Oh, and Malfoy? Try not to trip and fall or break anything on your way.” Ginny smirked, but her eyes were friendly, he saw, as his head came around and he made eye contact with her. 

The game was up. Ginny knew. 

“Go on with you now,” she said with a smile.

Smiling back faintly and taking a deep breath, he made his way to the glass doors to the balcony.

Quietly opening the door and stepping outside, he was just in time to hear her talking.

“Okay, you know you need to do this. My resolution for the coming year is to - to let go of Draco Malfoy and - and move on, because this is just ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous?” he asked.

She turned, startled and mortified. He could see the tracks of her tears. Swallowing a bit, he stepped forward, cupping her face in his hand and wiping away her tears with his thumb. 

“Are these because of me? Darling, please don’t cry.”

His sweet words and the old-fashioned endearment only made her weep the harder. “Shhh, hush now,” he soothed as he reached into his jacket pocket, extracted the immaculate linen handkerchief tucked in it, and took her hand in his, placing the handkerchief in it. 

She unfolded it and dabbed at her eyes, trying to calm herself. 

In the background the partygoers were cheerfully counting down: “Ten - nine - eight...”

Coming still a bit closer, he looked down at her lips. “May I?” He asked softly.

Hermione didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded.

“Two - one - Happy New Year!”

He bent and kissed her softly, carefully, as if she were the most fragile being on Earth. After a few seconds, he began to pull away. In a move that would embarrass her later to think of, Hermione followed him, pressing her lips to his more firmly. 

He made an indistinct sound in the back of his throat, and his hand cupped the back of her neck, pulling her to him as her hands slipped around his neck, his handkerchief still clutched in one. His other arm slowly wrapped around her back, his hand splayed across the flesh revealed by the low back of her evening gown, wrapping her in his embrace as the kiss deepened. 

Pulling back a bit, she looked into his eyes and smiled tentatively. “I think we need to talk,” she said simply.

“Yes. Yes, we do. Tomorrow? Dinner? Brunch? Anything, I don’t care, but tomorrow please?” he said in a rush. “I’d say now but I don’t know how we’d get any privacy and - and you’ve just been crying and I heard what you said and -“

She giggled. Suddenly he sounded like an eager schoolboy. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

———————————————————-

She received an owl early the next morning, bearing a note that invited her to meet Draco at a coffee shop not too far from her flat. 

A Muggle coffee shop. That was a surprise. 

She arrived at the shop, and found herself once again surprised when he confidently ordered their coffees and paid with a Muggle credit card. Apparently she had some poor assumptions to overcome.

Carrying their order, Draco led her to a table in a quiet corner, and they sat down, sipping coffee in silence for a moment.

Draco wanted to ask “what was that bit about letting go of me all about?” but he didn’t quite have the courage, so he settled for the more obvious choice.

“So why were you crying last night?”

“I - you were surrounded by young, perfect, beautiful witches in stunning evening gowns, and you were perfectly at home, smiling and talking and laughing with them and - and - you’re never that way with me,” she spilled out in a rush, embarrassed a bit at the tinge of petulance in her voice. 

He looked puzzled. “What? But - that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It certainly doesn’t look that way to me! You’ve never been so comfortable around me!”

“Well… with them, it’s easy because I don’t care about them. I spent years learning how to make stupid small talk at parties, and it’s just automatic.” He shrugged. “I’m not interested in any of them. To be honest, I don’t think any of them are interested in me either - the name and the money, certainly, and maybe how I look, but they don’t know me and they don’t care to. 

You - you’re different, and that makes it hard. I - all of a sudden I don’t quite know what to do or what to say. I obsess over the smallest things, and apparently I now do things like walk into walls and dump trays of food over people. Well, actually, only over you. And I - I want to be able to talk with you about real things, not just niceties, but I - I don’t seem to know how.”

Hermione couldn’t help but think he was doing a pretty good job of it at that particular moment.

“I know. I mean - I feel kind of the same way. About you, I mean. Argh! Now I can’t even talk!” she cried, embarrassed.

He chuckled, then reached across the table, laying his hand down almost over hers, then gently stroking one of her fingers with his index finger, staring at their hands before suddenly looking up steadily into her eyes. 

“I didn’t work for the money I have - I inherited it. If I’m good looking, it’s purely an accident of genetics. I did nothing to earn it or anything else. And I’ve done horrible things - so horrible that I wonder how anyone could forgive me.”

Hermione steadfastly held his gaze as she entwined her fingers with his. “You did horrible things because you thought you had to. Anyone looking carefully would have seen that your heart wasn’t in it. I think it’s understandable that you made the choices you did. I can’t say that I would have done any differently. 

And I don’t think any of us could withstand serious scrutiny without some negatives coming to light,” she continued quietly. “None of us is perfect.”

“I guess that’s true,” he responded thoughtfully. “Though you now, maybe...”

She snorted. “If you persist in believing that, I’m afraid you’re in for grave disappointment!” she said, laughing. 

He winked at her. 

Sobering a bit, he asked, “So - should we - try this? And just see how it goes?”

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that,” she replied decisively, her fingers still wrapped with his. 

Throwing a bit of money on the table, he led her out of the restaurant.

He was enjoying the novelty of being with her and didn’t want their time together to end, so he asked, “Will you walk with me for a bit?”

She readily agreed.

Suddenly it began to rain. There they were, in Muggle London, with no umbrellas and unable to publicly use magic for fear of exposure.

What a marvelous first date he’d arranged for. 

Was it a date? Surely it counted as one.

He spied an unused doorway ahead of them, and pulled her under its shelter, turning her to face him.

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to get you out of the rain for a minute. Besides, I couldn’t do this in the coffee shop.”

With that, he pulled her to him and kissed her. 

The kiss started out simple, then got a little steamier as her arms wound around his neck and his around her back, one hand drifting a bit lower to pull her closer. 

After some moments, he ended the kiss and looked down at her. “Gods,” he muttered before leaning in to kiss her heartily one more time. She was clinging to him by then.

“So - are you still resolved to let go of me now?”

She laughed, surprised and a bit embarrassed that he had heard that portion of her little speech to herself. “No, rather the opposite in fact.”

“And that, Madam, is precisely why I never make any New Year’s resolutions. They are so easily broken. You didn’t even keep yours one entire day!” he said, smiling and winking at her as he straightened her coat a bit before tucking her arm in his. 

And just as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk, the rain broke.


End file.
